


The Country in The Soup Cans

by 1960somethingBatman, CatsAreBetterThanDogs (1960somethingBatman)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Betrayals, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fluff, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Like, Politics, backstabs, but - Freeform, garbage town, like leaders trying to work with other leaders and stuff, some mystery, the fictional kind, trash city
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-07-16 00:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16074701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1960somethingBatman/pseuds/1960somethingBatman, https://archiveofourown.org/users/1960somethingBatman/pseuds/CatsAreBetterThanDogs
Summary: What if Haxus survived the fall? What if, throughout the years, other guests aboard the castle fell over and survived as well? What if they came together to make a civilization for themselves? And what if Lance now finds him falling off the very same safety violation himself?Now a prisoner of the Scrapper States Alliance, Lance must fight his way through memory loss, politics, and traitors lurking somewhere in the darkness. Friends will be made, promises will be broken, and one very confused Paladin will find himself at the heart of it all.





	1. Prologue

    This was, perhaps, the worst week in all of Lance’s life. He tried, he really, honestly, truly tried not talking to the drop-dead gorgeous daughter of the Klovian Ambassador, but sometimes words just slip. Shiro warned him what would happen, he did (the looks the Ambassador was giving him made it impossible to forget), but she took her coat off and Lance saw her wings and… and it just popped out.

    “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

    Lance rubbed his arm, which was still sore from when the girl’s father had tried to rip it off. Everything still hurt. It wasn’t like it required a trip to the pods—the team had thankfully stopped the fight before anything serious was broken—but the man had tried to kill him. Almost did kill him. Their potential alliance with the Klovians had turned to shambles, the Ambassador’s daughter didn't seem impressed, and to top it all off, Shiro had given him a thorough scolding before assigning him to custodial duties around the castle, which (pun not intended) was a load of garbage. The castle had only seven people living in it, six if you excluded Keith, and even if they did make a mess of the place, the castle was a freaking spaceship. Alteans invented technology Lance couldn't even begin to comprehend, yet somehow they still managed to forget to build an automated cleaning system. Still, when Shiro said do your chores, you did them, even if they were pointless and you did almost die.

    He yawned, emptying another half-eaten dish into the garbage shoot. The job honestly wouldn't be so bad if he just had someone to talk to, but everyone else was already in bed, trying to sleep off the trainwreck of a meeting Lance caused. The lack of people made the castle quiet. Lance didn't like the quiet. It left room for his mind to wander. The shadows of the dark, empty halls took shape, and the quiet, soundless murmurings of the castle’s gears took voice. It reminded him of back when the castle was haunted.

    “Lance? Are you _still_ doing dishes?”

    Lance shrieked, spinning around and throwing his plate behind him.

    “W-Woah!” Pidge said ducking as the plate whizzed over her head.

    “Pidge! S-Sorry, I didn't mean to… S-Sorry.”

    “No, no, it’s fine. I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I just… why are you in your Paladin armor? And what are you doing up anyway?”

    Lance walked over, scowling as he picked up the discarded plate from across the room, “Shiro’s chores. What else?”

    “Yeah, but it’s, like, two in the morning. You started vargas ago. Plus, you never did answer the whole ‘armor’ question. Do you need some help?”

    He walked back, rinsing off the dish and stacking it on the side. “I’m in my armor because half-eaten food is gross, and my only other option for gloves were Keith’s or Coran’s, and who knows where either of their hands have been.”

    “Plus Keith’s gloves kind of don't have any fingers which pretty much defeats their entire purpose.”

    “Exactly!”

    Pidge grabbed a dirty plate and began scrubbing it clean, handing it to Lance when she was done.

    “You were there when Shiro chewed me out. I’m supposed to do this alone. He made that part very clear.” Lance said, grabbing Pidge’s plate and drying it anyway.

    She smirked, nudging Lance with her elbow as she took another plate next to him, “What Shiro doesn't know won't hurt him.”

    “B-But what if he-”

    “He won't.” Pidge said, cutting him off. She smacked the plate against the opening of the garbage shoot then dunked it under the soapy water, scrubbing off whatever gunk remained. “He just left the training deck. I saw him heading off to his room on the way here. He’d have passed out by now. Trust me, Shiro won't be up for at least another four hours.”

    “Wait, what? Shiro’s just now going to bed? Does no one on this ship sleep anymore?”

    “Nah, just Shiro and me.”

    “What do you mean by ‘Shiro and me’? I mean, I could maybe, _maybe_ _,_ give Shiro a pass, but why you? You said you saw him in the hall. Did he see you? Does he know you never sleep? Does he just let it happen? All night? Every night? What time do you normally go to bed?”

    She shrugged, passing her plate off to Lance and grabbing a new one. “I don't know, maybe three? Fourish? Somewhere around that.”

    “ _What_?!?” Lance yelled.

    “Lance, be quiet. There are people trying to sleep.”

    “What?” He forcefully whispered. “Do you even know what that does to your health?”

    “Yeah, yeah,” she said, handing another dish to Lance, “Dry this plate.”

    “So why are you staying up anyway? You’re, like, the smartest person on the whole team. I’m pretty sure I don't have to tell you the negative repercussions of sleep loss.”

    “Well that’s a big word. Maybe sleep deprivation increases intelligence. You’re certainly sounding like it does.”

    “It doesn't and you know it. I am tired though. Haven't been up this late since we were back at the Garrison, and that was so far back that I’ve pretty much lost all tolerance for it.”

    “Then why don't you just go to bed already? You can finish these in morning. Or, better yet, you can just leave them to me.”

    “That’s… surprisingly nice of you, especially after that whole ‘tripped over the power chord’ fiasco, but I can't. I wrecked the meeting with the Klovians. This is my punishment, not yours. I wouldn’t put you through that. You need sleep just as much as I do, possibly more. Besides, I’ve still got to wipe down the observatory windows, dust the shelves in the library, and mop the floor of the engine room. Trust me, you don't want to be on your knees mopping floors at four in the morning.”

    “You don’t mop on your knees.”

    “Whatever. You get my point.”

    Pidge smirked, handing another dish off to Lance, “Who said anything about us cleaning anyway? This isn't the Dark Ages, Lance. We have technology. It’s an insult to all things science not to use it.”

    “W-Wait a second, you mean you’re going to—”

“Program drones. Yeah, you did completely ruin any and all chances of an alliance with the Klovians for some low-life girl, but you did almost get killed today, well, yesterday technically, but whatever. I think that pretty much makes up for it. Not the chord thing, by the way, but enough for the ruined alliance.”

“You’re never going to let that down, are you?”

“No, no I’m not. Anyway, when we were in that alternate reality, the Alteans there used their gladiators like the Glara use their sentries. I was wondering if I could reprogram some of our gladiators to do similar tasks but instead of fighting, using them for basic maintenance like mopping and stuff.” She passed the last dish to Lance.

    “Hm, I don't know. I don't like the idea of lying to Shiro.” He dried it off and stacked it on top of the rest.

    “Come on Lance. You’ve been at this all night. And ‘sides, if this works, they’ll be able to help Coran when he cleans.”

    “I’m still not so sure..”

    “Too bad. It’s happening. Now come on and help me haul one of them to the engine room. You said you had to mop in there, right? Geez that’s dangerous. What happens if someone slips? You’ll probably wind up like Haxus.”

    “Haxus?”

    “Oh yeah, that’s right. You were in a coma, so you wouldn’t have met him. He was some Galra lackey during the attack on the castle. Come on, I’ll tell you about it while we walk. That is, unless you _want_ to spend the next week doing chores.”

    “Alright, fine.” Lance said, “But if Shiro catches us, I’m blaming Keith.”

    “Keith’s not even in this sector of the galaxy.”

    “Don’t worry, I’ll make it convincing.”

    “Uh huh, sure.”

    The two made their way through the castle’s winding halls to the training deck. The gladiator was harder to carry then they originally thought, so both Pidge and Lance had to half carry, half drag it back.

    “Hey Pidge, is there any chance that this thing might kill us?” Lance asked after they made it to the engine rooms.

    Pidge was already typing away at her computer, reprogramming the gladiator. “Don’t be ridiculous. These are robots. They’re only going to kill you if I program them to.”

    Lance narrowed his eyes. “Just how mad are you about Phantasm thing?”

    “Very. Like I already told you, this is for you getting punched earlier, not the chord, so you bet I’m still mad. I was this close to winning, but you tripped over the power cable and shut the whole thing off. I almost beat my high score, Lance. A grudge like that isn’t going away overnight.”

    “Oh come on, it’s been over a week. How long is this going to last?”

    “I’d give it until at least the end of the month.”

    “Communism!”

    “You’re not starving, so it’s clearly not. I doubt you know what real Communism even is.”

    “Ugh! Whatever! How much longer are you going to take?”

    “A couple of minutes. It shouldn’t be long.”

    “That’s what you said last time.”

    “Last time was less than five minutes ago. Sit down and be patient.”

    “Ugh,” Lance said, leaning against the control console, “I’m bored. Find me something to do while you work.”

    “Hm… we already have our mopping supplies. Don’t really know if there’s anything else I need. If you really do want something to do though, you could grab me a screwdriver from my lab. The smallest one you can find. I think I might be able to get the job done with what I already have, but it‘s best to be prepared anyway.”

    “Yeah, sure. Beats just sitting around.”

    “Great. I’ll need you to hurry, though. Allura didn’t technically give me access to the gladiator’s direct programming systems, so I’m having to fight back firewalls as I go. Altean computer security is significantly better than the Galra’s, so I don’t know how much longer I can hold it. If it crashes, I’ll either have to start over, or I’ll be kicked out permanently and we’ll have to haul a different one over instead. Remember, grab the smallest one you can see. Make sure it as a straight head, like a minus sign.”

    “Small minus sign screwdriver. Got it.”

    Lance bolted out of the room, skidding around corners as he ran. He did _not_ want to have to drag another several-hundred pound chunk of metal across the entire castle. The second he was in the green lion’s hangar, he grabbed the smallest flat-headed screwdriver he could see and raced back out.

    “Hey, Lance!” Pidge called from the other side of the room. She stood behind the Gladiator, who was already up and mopping around the floor, “Guess I didn’t need that screw—Wait! Don’t—”

But it was too late. Lance slipped.

There was a second, just a second, of stillness. Pidge, mouth frozen, face horrified, as she felt the empty air where her bayard would be. The gladiator, still cleaning away, indifferent, with a mop in his hand. And Lance, hovering, suspended in the air as his center of gravity slowly tipped over the edge. He was still holding the screwdriver.

“LANCE!!!”

The world sped up. Pidge’s screams faded to darkness as he plummeted into the abyss.


	2. Chapter 1: How the Mighty Have Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chapter in which stuff actually starts to happen.

Lance didn’t scream. At least, he didn’t think he was screaming. Not until he ran out of air, that was. He forced himself to stop screaming. He had to focus. Time was short. Now was most definitely not the time to panic.

He tried his jetpack first. It sparked to life, giving off several short bursts before it fizzled out, the scent of smoke coming from its engine. Fight with the Klovian Ambassador. Right. Everyone had been too busy trying to fix the Alliance to fix his armor. Whelp, he was out of ideas. This was it, wasn’t it? He crossed the entire freaking galaxy, risking his life every day fighting evil space emperors and flying around in cat-shaped warships just to die from slipping on a quiznacking mopped floor. Figures. If he lived through this, he’d never underestimate a wet floor caution sign again. Lance closed his eyes and waited for the impact.

It didn’t come. He was still falling. How deep did this pit even go?

Eventually, he noticed that his fall was starting to slow. There seemed to be some sort of pressure on his back. It was light at first but steadily grew as his momentum decreased. It stretched down to gently catch him like one of those life nets used by firefighters. This was significantly more elastic though and seemed thinner, like some sort of membrane. It stretched out for several dozen meters at least, Lance’s speed gradually slowing until his fall almost stopped. Almost. The membrane snapped. Lance fell about another fifteen to twenty feet, now coated in whatever it was that substance was made of, and landed in a pile of… mattresses? It felt like mattresses, but it was too dark to know for sure.

He lay there for several minutes, not wanting to move. Everything hurt. His landing was definitely smoother than it could have been, but still. “Ugh. What… what was that?” Lance asked, propping himself up on his elbow as he switched on his helmet lights. He paused.

The landscape was covered in a sea of decayed matter and an assortment of other unrelated items. There were broken chairs and empty shampoo bottles. Gutted machinery with exposed wires, surrounded by chunks of shattered glass and iron and whatever other alien materials they used over here. Hills and full on mountains were made out of all of the broken, damaged, or otherwise disregarded items just lying on the already-decomposing floors. Torn game boards, rugged blankets, worn-down hair brushes, there was just about everything was down here. He looked down. Yep, those were mattresses.

The most notable aspect, though, was the smell. He didn’t realize until after he flicked his helmet light on (mostly due to being preoccupied with not dying), but the place reeked. It held the thick stench of spoiled milk and dead skunk and a thousand other pungent alien scents that he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Lance turned on his mask, but it didn't help. The fumes were already in his lungs. All it did was keep them there. He pushed himself up the rest of the way, brushing goo and decomposed matter off his armor as he deactivated the mask and started moving forward. 

The hills and mountains of trash blocked most of his view, as many of them outstretched the range of the flashlight, but he could see more as the warped ground started to level out. This place was reminding him of a dump or some sort of junkyard, just bigger. A lot bigger. Was this where the castle stored all of its trash? Then why was the place so quiznacking large? And that still didn’t account for the sheer amount of stuff already in here. The castle’s only two residents had been in hypersleep for ten thousand years. How did they build up so much trash in such a short amount of time?

“Hello? Is anyone awake yet?” Lance asked, turning on his communicator as he continued following the makeshift trail that was starting to form. All he heard was static. “Ugh. It’s not even four yet.” He groaned as his shoe sank into something squishy. “If this doesn’t make up for tripping over that quiznacking wire, then nothing will.” 

A glob of whatever stopped his fall dripped down his helmet and into his face. He wiped it off with his hand, holding it up in the light. “Is this…” he sniffed it, wincing, “Yep. Definitely food goo. Quiznack, what is this stuff even made out of?” Lance pulled off his helmet, wiping off the rest as continued walking. He didn’t even know where he was heading anymore. He just kept following this weird path snaking through the trash dunes. It almost looked purposeful. Lance survived the fall, so did that mean someone else could have as well?

The sound of something scuttling came from behind him. His bayard materialized, as he spun around, but there was nothing. He was tired. Maybe he was over thinking things, but, then again, maybe he wasn’t. 

More noises came from his left. Lance spun around, but there was still nothing. He continued walking, placing his helmet back on. This place was starting to creep him out. He tried his communicator again, but no one was on the line. “Lance to Castle of Lions, calling Castle of Lions. Come on guys, I know you’re all asleep, and Pidge is probably still crying in the engine room, but I did almost die. Twice. I’m kind of stuck in the castles oversized dumpster. And, not only does it smell like a funeral on steroids in here, but it’s also giving me mad Star Wars vibes. Not the happy, light-sabers-using-the-force type Star Wars, mind you, but the scary I’m-trapped-in-a-space-compactor-and-something-else-is-in-here-with-me type. Granted, this place is larger than the one in the movie. A lot larger. Like, I-can’t-find-the-walls large. But still, try to hurry. N-Not that I’m panicking or anything. Sharpshooters need nerves of steel, so I wouldn’t—What was that?!?”  

He spun, his flashlight catching the shadow of something’s tail as it ducked behind the beaten remains of a speeder. Lance swallowed. Either he was going crazy from the smell, or there really were other creatures down here. Neither option sounded good to him.

“L-Lance here. M-Might be panicking just… just a little bit, so… yeah. Any time now would be great.” Another glob of goo dripped into his face. He took his helmet off, wiping it again. It was difficult to see what he missed because of the lack of light, but he tried. “Darn it, I thought I got it all.” 

“You missed a bit on the left.” Came a male voice from behind. 

Lance shrieked, dropping his helmet. The flashlight went out. Lance screamed again, turning and running. He didn’t get very far. His foot snagged on some chunk of trash and he fell. 

“Quiznack! Sir, you gave away the element of surprise.” Came a different, female voice.

“What do you mean element of surprise? He had a flashlight. He already knew we were here.”

“Didn’t you hear him? Obviously, he didn’t.”

“Well, yeah, but he also said he was panicking. There’s no need to make him more scared then he should be, right?”

“Of course there is. It’s called intimidation. Maybe if you… Sir! To your left!”

Lance was already up and starting to scramble away. It was dark, but his eyes were already starting to adjust. Thankfully there was some light down here, even if it wasn’t much. The light was faint and colored, coming from a series of tinted rocks scattered across the ground. The whole glowing rock thing should have probably been more concerning, but right now he was more preoccupied with not getting killed. The light was dim, and he couldn’t make out many details (any details, really), but he could see shapes and shadows, and he could get a good enough view of the two figures behind him to know which way not to run. 

“To my…” The tall figure turned, his glowing yellow eyes locking onto Lance’s form. 

“Quiznack,” Lance said.

“H-Hey, wait! Stop!”

He ran. He ran as far and as fast as his legs would take him. Once again, he didn’t get far. Lance could feel the wind as the figure rushed past him, blocking his escape. The man’s arm reached for him. It was still dark, but the light gave off enough glow to see the claw tips on his fingers in soft purple light. Pidge’s talk from earlier rang in his mind. Was this guy… The voice and eyes and just about everything else clicked into place. He pictured a Galra standing on an engine room catwalk, sword raised as a Green Paladin below him struggles for her life.

Lance leaped back, the Galra’s dark claws grazing the paint on his armor as his hand closed around thin air. “This is for Pidge.” Lance brought his bayard up and fired.

“Haxus!” 

Oh, that’s right. There were two of them. He turned, raising his bayard again, but the second figure (despite being less than half his size), was already behind him. She leaped in the air, fists raised. Lance moved to fire, but he wasn’t fast enough. The woman roared with fury as she struck the side of his head, hard. His vision was spinning. He stumbled back, but she didn’t let up. As he fell backward, the woman grabbed his head and slammed it into one of the glowing rocks. It hurt. Especially without his helmet. Lance lay there, motionless as dark corners slowly faded over his field of vision. The last thing he saw was the woman’s form, silhouetted by a faint pink glow holding the Galra in her arms. Then everything faded to black.


	3. The Land Down Under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally meet the main players on this stage as Lance, now a prisoner, is pulled into the heart of this world's conflict.

Lance moaned as he pushed himself up. His head hurt. What happened? Why did everything smell so bad? Where was he?

“Ah, so you’re finally awake.”

He looked up. There was a Galra sitting cross-legged on the other side of a small, crackling fire. Lance had the hazy impression that he knew him, but he couldn’t be sure. Everything was hazy at the moment.

“Wh-Where… Where am I?” He asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re in Vroharoara City, of course. Named after the great Vroharoara herself.”

“Vroharoara? Where… A-And where’s that? How close are we to Voltron? Where’s—” Lance tried to stand up, but his wrists caught on something and he was jerked back down. Were those… zip ties? Great. So he was zip-cuffed to the ground.

The Galra smirked. Why did he look so darn familiar? 

“My word, Sevmyr must have hit you harder than I thought. Do you really not remember?”

“Not really. I might have been… running? I remember tripping and then running again and… yeah. That was about it. So, do you think that if I talk for long enough, you’ll consider maybe not taking me to Zarkon?”

“Zarkon? You think I’m…” He looked down at himself, “Was the outfit not enough? Sevmyr said it would be enough.”

“You’re… outfit?” Lance squinted, trying to get a better look at the Galra in front of him. He had never really paid much attention to Galra uniforms, but this one looked similar enough. “It’s Galra. What about it?”

“Galra? Galra?!? I’ve dyed it, don’t you see?” He gestured to himself. The original Galra design was still visible, but there was clearly a newer design painted over it. The side view of a single white eye looking the right. It was elaborately drawn, with white swirls and decorative lines coming off the lower lash. “And the gauntlets have clearly been altered as well. I mean, my last uniform was better, but you wrecked it, so it’s not my fault. But surely you’ve still noticed the intimidating spikes I’ve added. It’s not Galra. I’m not Galra.” The gloves did look pointier, and the white insignia definitely didn’t look the part, but the rest of the outfit still screamed Galra.

“Alright,” Lance shrugged, “If you say so.”

“I say so.”

“Great, fine, whatever. Look, can you just uncuff me now?”

The Galra scoffed, “Just because I’m no longer Galra doesn’t mean I don’t have obligations. You’re a Paladin of Voltron. You’re an enemy of the state and should be treated as such.”

“Aww come on man! I thought you said you weren’t going to turn me in!”

“Not to Zarkon.” He crossed his arms, “couldn’t even if I wanted to.” He mumbled.

“So then why am I even here? What’s the point? All capturing me will do is get Voltron mad, and trust me, you don’t want that. Galra or not, they won’t hesitate to come crashing down on wherever this city is to find me.”

The Galra smirked again. Why did his face look so darn familiar?

“Oh, I highly doubt that. Come after you, maybe. Get mad, definitely. But not destroy the city? Voltron can’t even touch Vroharoara or any other city in the Scrapper States Alliance for that matter.”

“The… Scrapper States?”

“Yes. It’s the most feared alliance in the Forgotten Caverns. Not even the Followers of Tradition dare defy our might.”

“That’s not true, Sir.” A woman said, pushing aside the cloth door as she entered the hut. She was short and pink, with two maroon ram’s horns spiraling out of the back of her head, two light blue stripes streaking down her cheeks, and a small, almost unnoticeable scar running across her neck. Wait a second. Was she… an Arusian?

“S-Sevmyr! What are you doing here? I thought I said I was interrogating the prisoner alone.” 

“First off, Sir, I would like to respectfully point out that an isolated interrogation is a terrible idea. All interrogations should have two men doing the actual questioning, and at least two others stationed outside. Prisoners are unpredictable, especially ones with a reputation as substantial as the Blue Paladin of Voltron.”

“Red Paladin, actually,” Lance said. “We—” 

“Shut up.” she said, not even bothering to face him, “Second, you’re still injured. You should be back in the infirmary at the Capital, not sprawled out in a jail tent where you’re more likely to get an infection.”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“With all due respect, Sir, you passed out from blood loss. I’m pretty sure that classifies as bad. You should be resting. And third, Sir, I know you’re trying to be optimistic, but the Scrapper States Alliance is falling apart. Rising hostilities from the Followers of Tradition is the only thing holding us together. If the threat of imminent death wasn’t so obvious, the Alliance would have crumbled Deca-Phoebs ago. That’s why I came, actually. Well, that and the fact that your orders are stupid. If you want me to follow them, them don’t pull dumb crap like an isolated interrogation.”

“Sevmyr! I am your superior officer and you will—” 

“Yeah, yeah.” she said, cutting him off, “Sue me. We’ve got more important matters to worry about than formality. Glarth just challenged your seat in the Council.”

“He what?!?” the Galra asked, standing up, “Quiznack. Quiznack!”

“Sir, calm down. This isn’t the time to panic.”

“No. No, Sevmyr, this is the perfect time to panic! I’m dead. It’s over. I can’t do this. If he’s already challenging me it means he’s won over Evris. I don’t want to know, do I? When’s the vote being cast?”

“It’s today, sir.”

The Galra froze. “Today? As in today today?”

“Yes, obviously. What other today would I be referring to?”

He fell to his knees. “Rule with pride, Sevmyr. My life is over.”

“Sir, look. I know things look bad. They are bad, but you can’t give up. Not now. If you don’t stand up and defend yourself, the other Chancellors in the Alliance will view you as spineless. Why do you think Garth challenged you in the first place? We’re at our lowest point. The Council sees us as weak, like our nation is a liability. We can’t let our influence fall any further, especially after you let the Arm of the Triumph fall into the Followers of Tradition’s hands.”

“That wasn’t my fault! The sentries shorted out. Whoever stole it had to have had access to our system.”

“That’s not how the council sees it.”

“Whatever. If the council is so upset, then they can go pry it from the Follower’s hands themselves.”

“That’s the thing, Sir. Garth did.”

“He what?!? When? How?”

“I’m not sure. I just found out today. But, Sir, because he was able to reclaim the Arm before you, Garth’s influence must be skyrocketing, and if he’s already challenging you, then it means he’s confident that he can win over Demiri as well.”

“D-Demiri? But… But our nations have been close allies since her father was in office. Even more so since he—”

“I know, Sir, I know. Garth might just be overconfident, but we still need to be ready. We need a plan and we need it fast. The capture of this Paladin should be enough to regain some influence. It’s not much on its own, but at least it’s something.” She paused, glancing up at the Galra, “Unless…” a smirk spread its way across her face. 

“What? What is it?”

Sevmyr chuckled, “This might seem crazy, but… what if we convinced the Blue Paladin to join us? Think about just how much influence we would gain if—”

“Red Paladin! I’m the Red Paladin!” Lance said, yanking on his cuffs, “And I’m not helping you.”

Sevmyr might have been shorter than Lance even when he was sitting down, but that didn’t stop him from curling in on himself when she sneered. Since when did Arusians look so intimidating? “You forget your place, prisoner. Just go right on ahead. Fight and kick and scream. It won’t help. Nothing you do will help. You’re stuck down here just like the rest of us. Your only options are to join us or spend the rest of your life rotting in a jail cell. Keeping you alive might be more beneficial, but as long as we’ve got your body, dead or alive, we’ve got influence.” She shaped her hand into a gun, resting the tip of her finger on Lance’s forehead, “I could kill you right now, and I’d still get what I wanted. So sit pretty and shut up.”

Lance swallowed.

“There, see?” Sevmyr asked, turning to the Galra, “That’s why you have two people interrogating, not that we needed an interrogation in the first place. I swear, half the stuff you do is just for show. Not get up and let’s get moving. We’re taking Blue here over to the Council. I’m looking forward to seeing the look on Garth’s face when we get there. No one’s even  _ seen _ the Paladins since the Day of Abandonment.” 

She took out a cord of rope from her bag and began tying it around Lance’s wrists tighter than necessary. He opened his mouth to say something but decided against it when she pulled the knots even tighter.

“I mean, he is going to kill you later,” she continued, “But, hey, at least we can enjoy it while it lasts.”

“What happened to not giving up! It’s hopeless, isn’t it? I’m a dead man walking.”

“It was a joke, geez. Don’t sell yourself short. You’ll do fine.” She wrapped the cord around her hand, giving it an experimental tug before unscrewing the pole Lance was cuffed to. Using both the rope and the zip cuffs at the same time seemed like overkill, but Lance wasn’t going to mention anything. She yanked him up and shoved him forward as the two continued talking. 

“Fine? Fine?!? Sevmyr, I lost the Arm of Triumph. How in the Forgotten Caverns am I supposed to win my influence back.”

“You give them a speech. What else?”

“There’s only so far words can take me.”

She chuckled, “Yeah. You say that like you aren’t responsible for literally everything the Alliance has ever done for anyone.”

The Galra blushed. “I-It wasn’t all that special. I was just saying whatever popped into my head. I’m not a miracle worker.”

“You’re humble to a fault, Sir.”

Lance stepped through the cloth door. Outside was a small, crumbling city. No, scratch that. It wasn’t anywhere near the size of a city. It was more like a town. Or maybe a village? A small, dystopian cluster of houses and shops. There were stands decked in vibrant, tattered fabrics and open booths filled with glowing, goo-like food and a handful of other merchants clustered together freely selling their rusty, worn-down wares. The entire market was cast in a faint glow from chunks of rocks arranged closely together to line the trash-filled streets. 

“Stop gawking and move it!” Sevmyr said, shoving him from behind, She sighed, “Look, if you really are stressed out about the vote today, you can talk to Demiri once we get there. The vote has to be unanimous, so brighten up already. Geez, aren’t you supposed to be the optimistic one?”

The layout and overall feel of the place was run down. Very run down. The buildings were all shaggy messes of metal and wood hastily thrown together with nails or rope or a handful of other methods (he was pretty sure some of those cloth doors were stapled on), yet they seemed structured. Gaps between the uneven walls were carefully filled in with paste, and the trash-covered floor felt even and smooth when he walked over it, almost as if someone had paved it. 

The people (mostly Arusians, but other races were scattered in as well) continued going about their business as Lance walked by. They glanced over him as if he were nothing, but froze when they noticed the two behind him. Citizens would gasp and stare, many bowing with a quick “G-Glory to the forgotten, Chancellor”.

Lance looked behind him, noticing that the Galra was standing a bit straighter than he was before. He had this confident, yet bashful smile on as he waved at the passing crowds. 

“Thank you, thank you. Glory to the forgotten.”

A group of Arusian girls walked up to them, muttering and giggling with each other as they approached. “G-Glory to the forgotten Chancellor!” One of them said, blushing before they ran off.

“I wish girls did that to me,” Lance muttered, wincing as soon as it came out. 

Sevmyr opened her mouth but paused as the Galra put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not like it’s all bad, but it… does take some getting used to.”

“R-Really?” he asked, half expecting Sevmyr to smack him, “H-How so?”

“Oh please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “A bunch of girls acting like fools, practically throwing themselves at his feet.” She sneered as one of the Arusian girls from before fainted, “Who  _ would _ want that?”

“Oh come on, it’s not  _ that _ bad.” The Galra said, waving at another passerby, “Well, I-I mean, yeah, it can get a bit overwhelming at times, like with the letters. So, so many letters.” He shivered, “But… they mean well. And besides, it’s the people. I can’t just say no to them. They’ve… made me a better person.”

“Once again, your humility baffles me, Sir,” Sevmyr said, pushing Lance to walk faster. “It’s a wonder you’re still single.”

“Wait a second…” Lance said, craning his neck to look back at them, “Are you… jealous?”

Sevmyr stopped, the ropes in her hand jerking Lance to a halt as the Galra nearly toppled over her. He really did tower over her, didn’t he? 

“S-Sevmyr, what’s—” 

Sevmyr started talking, her voice rushed, “I-I’m sorry, Sir. I know it’s a breach of protocol and a safety violation and there really needs to be two people watching the prisoner, but I can’t—” Sevmyr’s voice cracked, her face turning a deep, dark shade of maroon. She shoved Lance’s rope into the Galra’s hands and took off down the street.

“Sevmyr! Wait! What’s…” She was already gone, “What… what just happened?”

Lance had the fleeting impression that he should run. He could probably even get away at this point, but it passed as soon as it came. Even if Sevmyr did scare the living daylights out of him, he felt like a jerk.

“We should… um… probably keep moving then,” the Galra said, glancing back to where she had run off. 

The rest of the trip was dull. They walked down the dark, winding roads in silence other than the occasional “Glory to the Forgotten” to citizens passing by. The journey was boring, but at least it was short. They eventually made their way to a large, official-looking building with five differently patterned pillars holding up the overhanging ceiling outside. The outside of this was different. It looked more put together, more finished. Like an actual building. The two walked up to the steps to a set of double doors at the front.

“Glory to the Forgotten, Chancellor.” said an Arusian stationed at the entrance, bowing as the other guard (a species Lance recognized but didn’t know the name of) opened the door.

“Glory to the Forgotten.” The Galra responded. He paused half-way through the entrance, “Say if Vroharoara passes by, can you tell her I’m looking for her?”

“Yes, of course, Chancellor.”

“Thank you. Keep up the good work.”

The two entered and began making their way straight down the main hallway in front of them. Lance noticed that the condition of the interior was very similar to that of the outside. It was nice, much nicer than the hut he had been in before. The walls and floors looked polished and pristine, the doors were just that, real doors with actual build in hinges and everything. People shuffled about with files and stacks of important-looking papers, walking down the many other corridors branching off like tendrils in a spiderweb.

“Where are we?” Lance asked.

“This is the Alliance Capital. The leaders of the Five Forgotten Kingdoms meet here. You’ve probably noticed that it’s a bit… nicer… than most other buildings. That was my idea. The people needed to see structure and stability every time they looked at the Alliance, so I convinced the other leaders to use the best materials they had on it. Some of Sevmyr’s friends even had the Kingdom banners in the conference hall hand sewn. Kevnar was against it. _Is_ against it. He doesn’t really see the need for all the theatrics. Gave me a lecture on greed and putting the needs of the people first and all that, once.” he sighed, “I don’t like to admit it, but… Sevmyr’s right. This Alliance is crumbling. That’s… That’s why we need to do anything we can to get the people’s hopes back up, especially with all the drone raids that have been going on lately.”

“What do you mean by—” 

The Galra opened a set of doors, walking right into a short alien with bushy eyebrows and a face wrinkled with anger, scattering the papers in his hands across the floor. “G-Garth! Sorry, let me—” The Galra reached down to help, but Garth slapped his hand away. 

“Don’t touch that!” He said. Lance could only catch a glimpse of the word “Demiri” before Garth snatched it away. He shoved the last sheets of paper in his manila envelope, and paused, glancing between Lance and the Galra, “Sevmyr’s not… with you?”

“N-No? I mean she was, but left.”

“Where?” He asked, frowning.

“I-I’m not exactly sure where she is now, but if you want me to—”

“F-Forget it. I don't care.” Garth didn’t wait for him to finish. He stormed off, shoving past the Galra on his way out. 

“Well, that guy’s a jerk.”

The Galra sighed “A lot of people say that.” He held the door open for Lance, following him inside. “But it’s not really his fault. Cavern life takes some people longer to adjust than others. He misses his people. If it weren't for their whole ‘kill the traitorous infidels’ philosophy, he would have probably joined the Followers of Tradition.” 

“You guys talk about the Followers of Tradition a lot. Who are they?”

“That’s… kind of complicated. It started way back on the Day of Abandonment. Back when I was still working under Sendak.”

“Sendak? When did you—” 

“For the love of the Lion Goddess, what in the Five Kingdoms do you mean by bringing a Paladin of Voltron to our headquarters? Explain yourself!” Demanded an official-looking female Arusian, slamming a set of doors open as she came storming in towards them.

“Ch-Chancellor Demiri, calm down, it’s fine. He’s a prisoner. I’ve got him tied up see?”

“That didn't stop Marxus Felder from breaking out and killing my predecessor, now did it? We’ve discussed this before. Guarding prisoners requires more than one person. And where are you even going to put him? Do you really intend on holding him throughout the entire meeting?” 

“…Sevmyr would have grabbed a sentry first, wouldn't she?”

“I swear, you’d lose your head if she wasn't there to screw it back on. Where is that girl anyway? We have a meeting in twenty dobashes.” She sighed, “What is this place coming to. Go on, go get one already! Unless you were planning on giving him your seat.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go. I’ll just… uh… here?” The Galra asked, handing the woman Lance’s rope. She raised her eyebrow.

“What?”

“What do you mean what? Hold the rope.”

“What do you mean hold the rope? Just take him with you!”

“Well, he did have to walk all the way here, and it wouldn't really be fair to make him go running around the facility again just because I—”

“Fine! I’ll just go get the quiznacking sentry myself. For the love of the Lion Goddess, you really are frustrating.”

Lance glanced around. The room was shaped like a pentagon, with a differently patterned set of double doors and a pair of medieval-looking banners on each wall. The patterns were the same as those of the pillars outside. At the center of the room was a round wooden table with five throne-like chairs that were spaced evenly with several other, less decorative chairs spread in between them. The table itself had a large pentagram carved into it.

“What’s with the pentagram table, you guys in some sort of cult or something? I mean, not that I’m judging or anything, just kind of want to know before being potentially sacrificed to a goat.” 

“What is this… ‘cult’ you speak of?” 

“They’re those religions with people in dark cloaks and sacrifices and spell chanting and stuff.” 

“That’s… that sounds like Galra Druids. Are you comparing our great alliance to the horrors of Druids? How dare you! It’s a symbol of unity, like just about everything else down here. The five triangles are the five kingdoms, and the pentagon in the center represents the Alliance Capital. Both of those together make a star, a symbol of hope and new beginnings in just about every culture. The circle around it all reminds us that every single person in every single kingdom is all one at heart. We are even, equal. No side has any more influence than the other. How in all of space does that remind you of Druids?” 

“Eh.” Lance shrugged, “Must be an Earth thing.” 

“There!” Demiri said, swinging both doors open with another crash. The sentries behind her looked… were those Altean gladiators? They were painted over, but the markings and design were unmistakable. “Got your Droid. No one’s said they’ve seen Sevmyr, so we’re starting without her. Veeren!” 

A white, three-eyed alien about the size of an Arusian stepped forward, bowing, “Yes Chancellor?” 

“Go drag Kevnar and Ervis out of their studies.” 

“Yes, Chancellor.” He bowed again and left. 

“Has anyone seen Garth? He said he’d be back by now. I guess we’ll just have to start without him too. Sentry 8, Sentry 17, hold the prisoner. He can stand behind Garth’s chair. If he didn't want to crane his neck to see, then maybe he’ll actually be here on time.” 

“Come on, Demiri, we don't have to start right now. The meeting isn't until another ten dobashes anyway.”  

“Ten dobashes or ten ticks. It doesn't matter. If you’re not fifteen dobashes early, you’re late. At least Kevnar and Ervis are in the actual building.” 

“Can't you just wait for ten more dobashes? Garth waited for you when you were late.” 

“I wasn't ‘late’, I was ambushed by the Followers of Tradition. That hardly counts. And besides, if I remember correctly you said Garth was late himself that day.” 

“Well, he was still willing to wait for you. It’s ten dobashes, Demiri.” 

“…Fine. Ten dobashes, but not a tick later.” 

The Galra smiled. “There. That wasn't so hard now, was it?” 

Demiri narrowed her eyes, “I’m doing this for you, not for him.” 

“Oh, come on. Garth deserves some credit.”  

“Why are you even defending him? Garth hates everyone, but he hates you most of all. He’s planning on calling a vote to remove you today, isn’t he? That in and of itself is evidence enough.” 

The Galra smiled, “Oh come on, Demiri, have a bit of faith. I’m not gone just yet, and besides, as long as I have friends backing me up, I’ll be fine.” 

She sighed, looking down at her hands “Look, our lands have been close allies since they were even founded. I know that, okay? But when Garth wins over Evris, he’ll have over half of the alliance on his side. Garth’s trying to remove your seat from the council, and when that vote comes… I don’t know what the late Chancellor would have done, but I know he wouldn’t want his Kingdom to end up in ruin. My people have influence right now, real influence. And yours don’t. I can’t just throw it away because of some fruitless friendship.” 

“D-Demiri, what are you—” 

“My second wants me to vote against you.”

Silence.

The Galra sat there, staring for several moments before finally speaking up. “…You know that vote has to unanimous, right? If even one person says I stay, then I stay. You… know that, right?” 

“I… yeah. Yeah, I know. I’m… I don't want to. I’m going to try not to, but… my second made some really, really good points. If I do vote for you, we’ll be in the minority. Both of us. If I help you, Garth is going to be out for me as well.” 

“He’s going to go after you next anyway.” 

“And that’s why I wanted you to help kick him off the Council! But no. Of course not. You just want to keep living your perfect little life pretending like everyone else will just wake up one day and decide to be nice. I’ve tried to help you. I really, honestly, truly have, but I can't if you won't quiznacking let me! You lack the spine to get anything really done around here. You continue dishing out lenient punishments for crime, you refuse to establish a compulsory military despite desperately needing it, and it’s only because of your stupid ‘let’s put our most valued artifact on display’ policy that we lost the Arm of Triumph. For the love of the Lion Goddess! That arm powered the entire city and you let them just walk in and steal it!” She sighed, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? I wish there were something more I could do, but I can't. What do you think happens to me if I vote for you? We’ll be the minority. Garth and the others will see both of us as the enemy, and then I’ll just go up in smoke with you. The best decision I have is to go along with Garth’s plan, and hope Sevmyr makes a better leader than you.” 

“So you’re… just giving up on me?” 

“No, it’s not like that! Look, Hax-“

The door burst open. The three-eyed alien from before, bent over, clinging to the doorknob, panting, “Ch-Chancellors… There’s… Th-There’s been…There’s been a…”

“Spit it out already, Veeren,” Demiri said.

“An… an attack. S-Sevmyr… attacked.”

The Galra stood, his chair clattering to the ground behind him. “Where?”

“I-In… Infirmary.”

He took off like a rocket, out of sight before Lance could even blink. 

“Sentry eight, get Veeren a chair and some water. Sentry seventeen, keep a close eye on that prisoner. For all we know it was his friends that did this.”

Lance tried to stand. “They would never—” He was forced back to his knees by the droid holding him.

“Silence prisoner.” She turned to Veeren, who was downing water like he had just run a marathon. For all Lance knew, he had. “Slow down and start from the beginning. What happened?”

Veeren wiped off some of the water dribbling down his chin. “I-I’m… I’m not sure. Chancellor Kevnar was… He was at his desk. Said he was in the middle of something and… and that you could start without him. I-” He took another sip of water, “I naturally asked where Chancellor Evris was since he wasn’t in the library with him. Chancellor Kevnar said… He said Evris went out to go find Garth. I run outside and… next thing I know I hear this scream. It… it sounded like Sevmyr. Then I’m running. I’m running and running and praying that I’m not too late. Then the screaming just stops. It just cuts off and… and for a second I think, I-I think that maybe I’m too late. Maybe I couldn't make it in time and I—” His voice cracked. 

“Hey, hey take it easy, slow down.” Demiri said, crouching down next to him, “Drink some more water, you can tell me when you’re ready.” 

“N-No. No, you need to know. I… I wasn't too far from her at that point, but I wouldn’t have found her if Chancellor Evris hadn't stopped me. I guess he heard the scream too and came running. He was already there, checking Sevmyr’s pulse. It was actually one of his bodyguards that grabbed me, just sort of pulled me into the alley as I ran past. I just about screamed myself, but he told me what happened. Said there were… there were Followers of Tradition in the city. Said that they were targeting officials, that they tried to take Sevmyr in  _ alive.  _ She… she didn't look too well. The Chancellor said she’d make it but… she didn't look well at all. He… You’ll have to get the rest of the story from him. He said they’d drugged her, that they wouldn't have done that if they were just going to kill her. Chancellor Evris is paranoid, everyone knows that. He built his entire kingdom underground for Goddess’s sake, but if he hadn't been there, if he hadn’t carried around a fully armed militia wherever he went… I don't want to think about it. They… Chancellor, he said they wanted her alive. Why would they want her alive?” 

“I’m… I’m not sure. We’ll get Evris in here, and he can tell us what happened. Just breathe, okay? You’ve been through a lot today. Take it easy.” 

“A-Alright. I’ll… I’ll try.”  

“Good. Speaking of Chancellor Evris, where is he?” 

“Th-The infirmary. He looked pretty banged up himself.” 

Demiri sighed, “Great. Looks like we’re not having that meeting after all. Evris is hurt, Kevnar won't come, Garth is…” she paused, “Quiznack. Veeren, try to get yourself to the infirmary you look like your still in shock. Sentry Eight, follow.” Veeren stood, wobbling a little, and stumbled out behind them.

“Huh? W-Wait, what happened? Where’s everyone going? Why…” Lance glanced around. The room was empty. He tried to stand, but the sentry holding him forced him back to his knees, gripping his shoulder even tighter. Great. Just great. The very least they could do is let him actually sit, but no. Every time he tried to sink into a more comfortable position, the sentry would just jerk him back up. His knees were probably starting to bruise from all this kneeling. “Hey! Anyone still here? Hello?”  The lights shut off. 

Lance shifted his wrists. If only he could just… bingo! He formed his bayard. Before he could even think about aiming, the sentry grabbed the back of his neck and slammed him into the ground, twisting his bayard out of his grip. Two head injuries in one day. Great.

Lance probably would have seen spots if the room hadn't have been so dark. But the darkness wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It seemed soft and comforting and gently lulled him to come. To sleep. Lance once read something about concussions. The details were blurry, especially now, but it was something about repeated head injuries being bad and how sleeping too soon after one might make him slip into a coma. But, then again, he once heard someone say that wasn't true, that sleep after a concussion was healthy.  

He really should have stayed awake. It was better safe than sorry, and he didn't like the idea of dying in the middle of some weird alien night planet, but… sleep sounded so, so good right now. He was uncomfortable, and confused and really should have been spending that time trying to escape, but his eyes just kept flickering shut. He had to give in eventually, right? And besides, it’s not like a coma ever stopped him before.  

That thought brought up memories of his earlier days of Voltron, back when he still piloted the Blue Lion. He remembered Keith and his attempts to prove their bonding moment by going through footage picked up by the castle cameras during their whole Galra-almost-steal-everything adventure. Huh. That seemed relevant right now. Weird. Lance briefly wondered why as his eyes slid shut.

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to wait until all the chapters were finished before posting anything, but the wait was killing me. The next chapter will be posted either when the story is complete, or when’s I lose my patience again. Hopefully it’ll be the first because I really don’t want to update sporadically.


End file.
